


The Patron Saint of Lost Things

by Telesilla



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-23
Updated: 2006-03-23
Packaged: 2017-10-05 13:23:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telesilla/pseuds/Telesilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things are said, pie is consumed and Sean finds something. Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/42185">Rain Chain</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Patron Saint of Lost Things

When Sean woke up, Viggo was curled up against him, his hand across his face as if he were hiding from the dim, gray light of morning. Going up on one elbow, Sean watched him sleep for a long moment. He remembered Viggo getting into bed with him, even remembered inviting him there. _I'm too much a man of the world to forget who I took to bed the night before,_ he thought with a mental chuckle.

While a mildly amusing thought, it wasn't exactly accurate. Yes, he'd invited Viggo into his bed, but only to sleep with him. It was something that had started in New Zealand one night after things had come to a head with Abby in a furious phone call, and Sean had had to admit that the marriage was over. He'd ended up at Viggo's place, eschewing his comfortable but sterile hotel room for the random chaos that seemed to surround Viggo wherever he went. There'd been scotch and then bourbon, and in the end Viggo had refused to let him leave. When Sean had said he'd sleep on the couch, Viggo had simply given him a look. Sean had stopped talking about the couch and meekly followed Viggo into the bedroom. It had been exactly what Sean had needed, and when he woke up the next morning with Viggo half draped over him, he'd felt cared for, even loved, without so much as a kiss being exchanged.

Now, as he looked at Viggo, he wondered what would have happened back then if one or the other of them had taken things further. But no, even then, there had been several shirts Sean had recognized as Orlando's carelessly piled in the overflowing laundry bin, and while Sean had proven to be rather terrible at monogamy, he'd never been too interested in helping anyone else cheat.

"If I listen hard enough," Viggo murmured sleepily, "I can hear you thinking."

"Liar," Sean said, resting a hand on Viggo's arm.

"Mmmmm, maybe." Viggo reached up and rested his hand over Sean's, pressing it down. "I'm glad you came."

For some reason Sean was suddenly _aware_ of Viggo, not just of the warm sleekness of skin and muscle under Sean's hand, but of Viggo himself. "Where else would I be?" he said, pleased at the way his voice sounded so steady.

"Any number of places," Viggo replied, not moving his hand from Sean's. "I can't expect you to...."

"Don't," Sean said, a little more sharply than he'd intended. When Viggo looked startled, Sean shook his head. "I'm here," he said firmly. "And you're exhausted." He'd been too tired to notice the day before, but now when he looked at Viggo, he saw the hollows under Viggo's eyes. "Go back to sleep. I'm going to go mess up your perfect kitchen."

"Good," Viggo mumbled, burrowing down under the covers. "Needs it." Before Sean could answer, Viggo pulled the covers up to his ears, looking for all the world like the blob in some cheap science fiction movie. A little surprised at how cold it was, Sean thought about the light weight clothes in his bag.

A moment later he was in Viggo's bed room, or what he assumed was Viggo's bed room, simply because it was bigger than any of the other rooms in the house. There was nothing much of Viggo here, although Sean saw what looked like a few framed paintings wrapped in paper over in one corner. A little digging in the dresser turned up a pair of sweats and a shabby sweatshirt with a faded stencil of the San Lorenzo crest on it.

"Well, at least it's not Man U," Sean muttered as he pulled the clothes on before pulling on a pair of his own socks. A little more comfortable, he padded into the kitchen, which was indeed in need of a good mess or three. A quick investigation told that Viggo had shopped with Sean in mind, and as he pulled out a carton of cream, Sean laughed a little. Most people didn't take over their friends' houses like this.

But then most friends hadn't lived in each other's back pockets like the Fellowship had. Although he'd been a little apart from them, largely because he'd preferred a hotel to the houses or flats New Line had rented for everyone, he'd still been welcome for a night or a week and he'd drifted from place to place and put up with parties in his suite or room when they were on location, undoubtedly because he rarely traveled without liquor.

_When you've held someone's shoulders while they're busy throwing up,_ he thought as he located the kettle and hunted for the tea, _you don't worry too much about digging about in their dressers for something to wear._ That the tea was PG Tips didn't surprise Sean. If it had been Billy visiting, Viggo would have had that dreadful Gunpowder Green Billy drank, just as Sean had had managed to find strawberry Quik when Elijah had stayed with him in London at one point.

They were all mates and mates did things for one another; it was really as simple as that.

Lighting a cigarette once his tea was ready, Sean took it and his cup and wandered out onto the back deck. The morning was clean and clear and he could see snow on the nearby mountains. The air was crisp and he winced a little as he took a drag from the cigarette; it seemed criminal to spoil the air with smoke. _Try telling me body that._

"Gorgeous, isn't it?"

"I thought you were sleeping."

"You know how it is; sometimes you can get back to sleep, sometimes you can't," Viggo replied with a sigh, reaching for Sean's pack of cigarettes. As Sean handed him the lighter, Viggo gave him a tired smile. "I slept better last night than I have in a while."

Knowing better than to ask questions Viggo wasn't ready to answer, Sean smoked the rest of his cigarette in silence. "You hungry?"

"Yeah, but I want to eat on the way."

"Are we going somewhere?"

"Up there," Viggo said, pointing to the snow-touched mountains. "I want to see the snow. We'll eat in town and pack a lunch to eat up there."

The young waitress in the small diner was a little shy serving them and a group of middle aged men kept glancing over at their table, obviously recognizing one or the other of them. "Bit different from Idaho," Sean said and then wanted to kick himself.

"Yeah," Viggo replied and anything else he might have said was lost as the waitress stopped by with more coffee. "Can we have a couple slices of apple pie to go?" Viggo asked, not even giving Sean a chance to apologize.

Viggo's truck featured a good sound system and when they reached the diner's parking lot, Viggo reached into his pack and handed Sean a six CD cartridge. "The changer's behind your seat," he said with a grin.

"Am I making a mistake here?" Sean asked as he slid the cartridge in.

"Don't you trust me?"

"When it comes to music? Frankly, no." Sean grinned as he settled into his seat. "If I hear Hobbits on helium...."

"C'mon, Sean, when was the last time you actually watched one of your own movies, aside from premiers and all that?" Viggo chuckled as he turned on the stereo. "I promise, it's good stuff."

Sean's show of bracing himself against a possible onslaught had Viggo laughing, as he'd hoped it would. His concern turned out to be totally unjustified when the Byrds came on, and soon he and Viggo were singing along with "Mr. Tambourine Man."

By the time they'd launched into "So You Want To Be a Rock n Roll Star" the truck was climbing the narrow switchback road and Sean had relaxed a little. No, Viggo wasn't talking, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to talk--just that he wasn't ready to.

"Here we are," Viggo said, pulling into a tiny little lot that had room for three cars at the most. The sign marking it was so faded that Sean couldn't read it, but for all that, the lot was fairly well maintained and had very few potholes.

"I thought we were going up to the snow," Sean said, as he got out of the truck and took a deep breath. The air here was even better than down at the house and he decided against having a cigarette.

"We are," Viggo said. "But I don't want to try driving in it on that road. I thought we'd take the trail; it's an easy walk." He shouldered his pack and handed Sean the paper bag that had the pie from the diner in it.

"Wait, we have to exert ourselves?" Sean asked. "I don't know about you, but I'm on vacation."

"Bitch, bitch, bitch," Viggo said, flipping Sean the bird as he walked over to a trail that led from the parking lot.

"I never!" Sean said as he followed Viggo.

The trail turned out to be as easy as Viggo had promised, but Viggo had gone silent again and Sean was content to walk along behind him. He thought about saying something about having Viggo's back in case he fell, or maybe commenting on how good Viggo's ass looked in those jeans, but then thought better. The former was a given that didn't need to be said, and the latter was a place he wasn't sure he wanted to go to yet.

Yes, he wanted Viggo, and if he was going to be honest with himself, he had for a while. But he was damned if he was going to come in and make some sort of move on his friend while Viggo was still recovering from a relationship gone bad. If indeed it had gone bad; while Sean had his suspicions, he wasn't sure and he hated to make assumptions.

While he'd been thinking, the trail had taken them a way up the mountain, and in spite of his exertion and the sun, Sean was glad he'd borrowed one of Viggo's warm jackets. They'd reached the snow line now, and they slowed to avoid slipping on stones wet with melting snow.

"Next time I visit in the winter, I'll be sure to bring me own coat," Sean said. "As it is I'm glad I have the boots."

"It doesn't snow that often," Viggo said. "Not like Idaho." While Viggo didn't stumble over the word, Sean noticed that there was a certain flatness to Viggo's voice, as if he had to brace himself to talk about Idaho.

_ I just hope he'll be able to go back someday; it'll break his heart if he can't._

"Here," Viggo said as the trail took a slight turn. "What do you think?"

"Christ," Sean said, looking around. The ground and the rocks were white with about six inches of snow and what rock that showed was dull red. "Bloody gorgeous," he said and Viggo grinned.

"I came up here a couple weeks ago and thought it would look good after a snowfall." He moved over to a board flat rock and swept it off with the arm of his jacket. Pulling a smallish tarp out of his pack, he spread it over the rock and then sat down. "C'mon," he said, patting the tarp, and Sean had to smile, doubting that Viggo would have bothered with the tarp if he were alone.

Settling next to him, close enough that their shoulders brushed each other, Sean let himself relax.  
"Thank you," he said after a moment.

"You're welcome," Viggo said, and that he didn't need to ask why Sean was thanking him was one of the things Sean loved about him. "Thought of you when I first saw this view," he adds in a murmur.

_Not Orlando?_ Almost the moment he thought that, Sean feels ashamed. He did it last night too, and now he wondered if he'd actually been comparing himself to Orlando for a long time. He didn't think so; he wanted to think that it wasn't like him to be so petty. Once again, he reminded himself not to make assumptions.

"Not Orlando," Viggo said after another long moment of silence.

"Am I that obvious?"

"You have 'concern' tattooed on your forehead," Viggo replied gently.

"I'm sorry," Sean said. "I used to be more subtle. Or at the very least, less obvious."

"Mmmmm," Viggo hummed, leaning against Sean the way he had back in New Zealand when exhaustion and the weight of being Aragorn had been almost too much for him to bear.

This time Sean truly settled into the silence. While he wasn't entirely sure what part of his thought process Viggo had seen, the fact was that Viggo was still here next to him, real and solid and not flinching. Turning just a little, Sean slid his arm around Viggo, who let out a breath and leaned closer.

Sean didn't know how long they'd sat there when Viggo finally pulled away a little. "Don't apologize for leaning on me," Sean said as Viggo drew breath.

"I suppose I have 'I'm sorry' tattooed on my forehead," Viggo said with a slight smile.

"Let me check," Sean said and he turned his head, at which point it seemed that the only way to complete the movement was to lean forward and kiss Viggo. It was just a light kiss, nothing more than their lips pressing together, and Sean knew that if Viggo wanted to escape it, he could.

Viggo made no move to pull away at first, and then when he did, Sean was pulling away as well. In spite of the feeling of rightness about it, Sean looked at Viggo a little nervously, aware that this was different than sharing the same bed. Viggo just nodded as if something he'd long suspected turned out to be true. With a slight smile he turned and reached into his bag.

"I don't know about you, but I think I want to skip the sandwich and just have coffee and pie," Viggo said looking at the sandwich he'd pulled out. He put it away and dug out the thermos. "That was more breakfast than I usually eat."

"As long as you eat all your pie," Sean said, trying to look stern. "You're too skinny."

"Yes, Mom," Viggo said, picking up the bag. He handed Sean a Styrofoam box of pie and a plastic fork and then immediately dug into his own piece.

"Nothing's changed," Sean said after a couple of bites. "Well, it has but...."

"Yeah," Viggo said. "I was worried...I don't have a grand passion in me. No, that's not it. I don't want something to start with a grand passion."

"I don't do grand passion all that well." Sean said and then shook his head. "Unless I'm doing it too well, you know, giving some bird the Sean Bean Experience."

"That would be that thing where you watch a soccer game, drink beer, sing that ghastly song, and fall asleep on the sofa?"

"Nah, women can't take the pure Sean Bean experience," Sean said with a sad shake of his head. "Delicate creatures, the ladies. I usually swap out the beer for wine."

"Do they wake up and find that you've cleaned the kitchen and made something incredible for breakfast?" Viggo asked, and Sean was glad to see a fond smile on his face.

"Rarely," Sean said, looking at Viggo with a serious expression. "Women expect room service or to be taken out to some place where they can have a champagne cocktail with a nice expensive breakfast." He smiled. "Not that I wouldn't take you out if you wanted."

"La, Sean Bean," Viggo said in a fairly bad Southern accent, putting his hand on his chest and fluttering his eyelashes. "Why, aren't you just the perfect gentleman."

"And you're a bloody poof," Sean said, snickering when he should have been growling. He took up the thermos and drank some coffee. "Christ, that's good."

"Yeah," Viggo said, looking at Sean as he drank the coffee.

"What?"

"Just agreeing with you." Viggo smiled. "It's good."

They fell silent for a while, the familiar comfort now shot through with a new tension, although when Sean thought about it, the tension wasn't new at all, really; it was the knowing that was new. Knowing that at some point--and when didn't really matter as much as expected--they'd do something about this tension.

On the way back to the truck, something on the trail caught Sean's eye and he bent down to pick it up. At first he thought it was a button, something cheap with an orangey plastic inset designed to make it look like a jewel. But then, after he rubbed the dirt off, he saw that it was a stud for a dress shirt.

"Amber," Viggo said, looking over his shoulder. "At least I think it is."

"Here," Sean said, dropping it into Viggo's hand. He almost opened his mouth to say _now you can't say I never gave you anything_ but even he knew that, over the last six years, he'd given Viggo more than Sean thought he had to give.

_-end-_

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to [Rain Chain](http://telesilla-fic.livejournal.com/7813.html) and takes place the next morning. The title is courtesy of [](http://bkm5191.livejournal.com/profile)[**bkm5191**](http://bkm5191.livejournal.com/) who came up with it during that summary meme that was going around a while back. Thanks to [](http://helens78.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://helens78.livejournal.com/)**helens78** for the beta. Many years after writing this, I realized that I hadn't acknowledged ripping off a line from Busman's Honeymoon by Dorothy L. Sayers. Lord Peter Wimsy is also too much of a man of the world to forget who he took to bed with him the night before.


End file.
